Never Knew
by goldnote
Summary: REPO: The Genetic Opera. When Graverobber has a plan, Shilo is his only chance. In this world of blood, zydrate, and lies, can humanity shine through? GraverobberxShilo. Rated M for future chapters. I own nor have anything to do with the world of Repo
1. Prelude

It didn't seem right.

Somehow, being in Nathan's house, the dwelling of the most famous Repo Man that GeneCo had ever hired, set Graverobber on the tips of his nerves. His coat hem, frayed and filthy, dragged across the sleek floor as his footsteps echoed off the hardwood and into the darkness. There wasn't much light, seeing as the maids had all ran off after hearing of Nathan's death. No point in waiting around for a new job when your previous employer can't recommend you. Jobs were hard to come by and it wasn't getting any easier to hold one; anyone would think that, with all the death related to GeneCo and organ failure, there would be a demand for living bodies, but that wasn't the case.

"Kid?"

Graverobber's voice rang through the hallways he couldn't see, slipping around corners and up the staircase. Resting his hand on the cool wood of the banister, the dealer glanced upward, able to see a slice of hallway and a room with a partly closed door. No lights, just shadow from the moonlight streaming in through the windows that sat so close to the ceiling that Graverobber had first wondered if there was a crack in the roof. He wasn't used to ceilings, or much shelter of any sort. Already, the dusted furniture and polished flooring were reminding Graverobber he didn't belong here. A man like himself would never be allowed in this mansion if the world hadn't just been turned upside down.

No one had heard from Shilo in nearly a week. It had only been that long since the fall of the most influential corporation of the world and the death of it's best employee. Her father had more influence with the Largos than he would ever know, than Shilo could ever harness herself. To offer a little girl an entire company, to even dream of handing the lives of millions over to a teenager who had never left her house until the plans had been set in action to snag her away from her father... Ridiculous. GeneCo needed to be taken care of by someone who cared, someone like himself. Not so much about people, but about money. Caring about people was a waste of time and time was just as important as money. They both made the world go 'round. And you couldn't forget Zydrate.

No, some people wanted Zydrate more than they wanted money or more time. That was why he was in this business: Zydrate wouldn't go away, not as long as surgery was needed, and there was always a demand for new organs. Graverobber knew he would never be put out of business as long as he harvested what he needed to get by. The problem was that it just wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. Management was more interesting than harvesting Zydrate and dealing with the living was more interesting than the dead. If there was a chance he could do something else, to put his life on a different path, he would take it: Graverobber always had a plan. Here was GeneCo, within his grasp...

"Kid!"

There was a slight rustling at the top of the stairs and Graverobber set one booted foot upon the first polished stair. Should he go upstairs? It was bad enough to have broken the lock on the back gate, to trample through the rosebushes and come in through the front door. The girl had left it unlocked. Who knew what could have happened to her by now if she had left the door unlocked for nearly a week? It was no secret that Nathan Wallace had died and that he had left behind a vulnerable, misguided girl. Graverobber knew too many bastards out there who would love to take advantage of the situation; he had met and taken care of a few too many out there in the dark world. A body is a body, after all. But wasn't he taking advantage of the situation, as well? Wasn't there a question, a plot, on the tongue that clicked against his teeth as Graverobber waited for a sign Shilo was still in the house?

The rustling faded and Graverobber took his foot off the stair, feeling ridiculous. As much as he didn't want to admit to himself he wasn't just here to see how the kid was doing, it was the only excuse he had. Nathan's presence, and the presence of his wife especially, was strong in the house. He didn't rob houses, just graves. There wasn't a way Graverobber could convince himself yet that the fact Nathan was in his grave gave him a right to rob the mausoleum this house had become. The girl probably wasn't even here, anyway. The death of her last parent had given her the freedom to do whatever she wanted to; Shilo was probably out learning about the world in all its jaded glory.

Let her, he thought. The girl deserves more than what she had before. It wasn't right to be in cage all one's life, even if it was a large one with silver candelabras and bug collections.

A moan, nearly faded by the time it reached Graverobber's ears, flitted down the staircase from the open door upstairs. Not the slightest bit hesitant, he ran up the stairs, glowing vials clattering in his pockets. Something hadn't seemed right before and it definitely wasn't any better when Graverobber reached the door to what was a bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the bed in the center of the room. A lacy canopy drifted in lazy folds down to the floor, stuffed animals on the bed, a small glass case with bugs inside resting on the bed stand, and a lamp with a pink shade standing guard over the dead insects inside their clear prison. Graverobber felt like that lamp as he stood over Shilo, the young woman flat on her back on the floor. She was the second thing he saw when opened the door on it's gliding hinges. It didn't seem proper for her to be sleeping on the floor but, even in the moonlight that lit the night like the glow illuminated the inside of Graverobber's pockets, the man could tell there was something wrong with the way Shilo rested.

Kneeling beside her, Graverobber noticed the window was open from the cool breeze that ran across his face, just like his hand swept the stray strands of dark hair from Shilo's cheek. She was cold, too cold to be comfortable in any way, and she was dressed in the same clothes she had worn when Nathan had died. The dealer didn't bother to notice the bloodstains that remained on the fabric, just the chill liquid that was seeping through the fabric of his pants and staining his skin. He had knelt in blood.

"Kid? Shilo?"

She had promised Nathan she would change the world for him, but what was there to do when her entire world was her father? Graverobber cradled the hand that dripped with the crimson liquid he had never been squeamish about until that moment: there was too much blood for one little girl, too much. This girl, who had been offered everything, had tried to kill herself. Feeling for a pulse, fingers flicking against the willowy neck that was so still at his touch, Graverobber swore. She was still alive.

Shilo had never really succeeded at most anything she did, anyway, and Graverobber hoped this held true tonight as he reached into his jacket for a needle and thread. He wasn't about to let his last chance to live a better life slip away, not when it's heart still beat.

* * *

_Before you assume the obvious, I think we should have a little more faith in Shilo... Hint, hint... Many parts of this story will be misleading and seem to be obvious, but once the story gets going, you'll find much more than just the words before you... Happy Reading!_


	2. Rest Comes Easy

_There is some fluff and some swearing. If you don't like swearing, then you don't have to read it. I will admit I normally don't write fluffy things, so if you're looking for something darker, you'll be in better luck in the next chapters. Thanks for reading and all the wonderful messages; reviews in my email box are the motivation to actually sit down and finish a chapter, so I'll thank you all for that! Again, I don't own anything to do with anything to do related to "Repo: The Genetic Opera" and any of it's worlds or characters. I wish I did, but I don't. _

* * *

"Welcome back to the world of the living," said the man sitting in the corner. "Or, at least to the land of the nearly, but not quite, dead."

Her room was lit in soft shades of pink, the edges of light smudged by the dark gray of approaching dawn. The moonlight had disappeared to make way for the sun, that twilight hour of the morning when everything seems to fade and ebb before the chaotic day begins. Shilo groggily tried to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes and found that both her arms were practically unresponsive. Every attempted movement was shot through with pain and panic as the girl woke up from her deep unconsciousness.

"Who- who are you?"

"Come on, kid, you can't be serious."

Shilo lifted her head from the pillow, realizing she was in her bed only when she felt the fabric of sheets slide from her neck to her chest. The bed wasn't warm, just softer than the floor. She remembered the floor rushing up to her as she had fallen... Shilo could hardly see the figure of a man resting with his back against the wall, sitting upon her vanity seat he had pulled over by the door. If she hadn't recognized the jacket, she would have remembered the face. She had seen it in her dreams the past few nights, confused and frustrated about why he had made his appearance among the bloodshed and horror Shilo experienced every time she closed her eyes. He had been one of the better dreams in these past few weeks of misery.

"Graverobber..."

"Yeah?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow, never smiling, just looking at Shilo as she pitifully tried to sit up again and failed. Her little whimpers of pain as she tried to put pressure on her wrists bit into him and he considered standing to help her, but just considered it and nothing else.

"I don't reward failures," the dealer stated bluntly as he saw Shilo's pleading eyes try to latch onto his. Graverobber purposefully didn't make eye contact; it was best to stay as disconnected from this girl as possible. How could he have thought she would be the one to help him? If she was trying to kill herself, he might as well go and find a different way to begin his plan. Not that he wanted to leave her here alone and in misery, but the entire world had to find their way and he didn't even know where to begin if he tried to help Shilo. He didn't even like to think about his own life because of the uncertainty and nervousness that greeted him like those scalpel sluts on the street, eager and all too willing to pounce him when he least wanted company.

Whimpering still, Shilo couldn't repress the panic as she rested back on the pillow and swallowed bitter tears. She was tired, so tired, and couldn't remember how she got into bed. Although Graverobber had never hurt her, why was he here? Why did she ache so much, all her bones and muscles and joints protesting the very thought of movement? Shilo turned her head, neck cracking and causing her to cry out as she tried to face Graverobber. He was still sitting on that chair, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and knees spread. The look on his face wasn't encouraging. A few hot tears escaped her eyes and slipped across the bridge of her nose and the corners of her face to be absorbed by her wig and pillow.

"What happened? Graverobber? Why- what happened?"

Graverobber stood casually, the fluidity of his movements, the purposeful stride making Shilo suddenly wish he was still sitting down across the room instead of walking toward her bed. Every word he said matched the careful step he took until he was standing right next to the bed.

"You tell me, kid. You did it to yourself."

Without warning, he grabbed the edge of the sheet that had fallen onto the shelf of Shilo's chest and whipped it down toward her knees, snatching up the closest arm and shoving her wrist in front of her face. Shilo saw, in the pale purple that was gathering in the East and streaming in through her window, that there were black threads holding her skin together where the hand had separated from the rest of the arm, a clean cut from one wrist bone to the other. There was still dried blood on her arms, flaking onto the sheets, and Shilo gasped before starting to panic.

"I- I wouldn't have done this! No! What happened? Graverobber, what happened to me?"

In her rush to move, to do anything but lay there helplessly, Shilo sat up and broke part of the scab starting to form over her other wrist. Too much pressure caused too much pain for Shilo to do anything but scrunch her eyes and cry in agony as the blood started to pour.

"Knock it off," Graverobber said, his tone gentle despite the harsh words. He didn't take pleasure in Shilo's pain, or the pain of other beings that didn't deserve it; the expression on the girl's face was too authentic to be a trick and Graverobber set the arm he was holding down upon Shilo's stomach.

"How could I have done this? Why? I don't think I did this!"

Graverobber's face was oddly lit by the lamplight, the pink of the lampshades and orange of the rising sun bringing out the strange highlights in the hair that probably hadn't been washed in weeks. His jacket was scruffy, his neck ringed with dirt, and the many pockets of his clothing jingling with Zydrate vials in every movement he made. He stood there, looking at Shilo, looking everywhere but her eyes. Her clothes were in even worse shape than they seemed and she wasn't much cleaner than he was; the girl had completely neglected herself.

"Why don't you think you did this? What makes you think that someone would care enough to just waltz right in here and cut your wrists for you? You have knives, right? Your father's tools? You could have done this so many ways. You didn't even slice the right veins to do the job," Graverobber said, still avoiding eye contact as he took her hand, more gently this time, and turned it palm up.

He had done as good of a job as he could with the stitching. The wounds had looked bad, and they were, but Shilo wasn't at danger of dying now that she had some blood in her from the tiny medical refrigerator where there were actual pocket bags of of the stuff. There wouldn't even be a need for stitches if Graverobber was assured that Shilo wouldn't forget her own limits and end up doing more damage to herself. God, even tape would have done the trick, but let her have those threads through that thin skin, let the pain linger for a few more days. He knew it would heal, although she would always have the scars. Good, he thought. Let it be a reminder how he saved her pathetic ass from death's doorstep because she was having a hard time dealing with reality. Let her think of him whenever she saw those scars. Maybe it would remind her that there weren't people like him who would save her from herself just anywhere.

"I wouldn't have-" Shilo started before breaking into sobs, hiccuping. She looked pathetic, half falling out of the bed, twisted in pain. Finally taking pity on her, Graverobber carefully took Shilo's shoulders in his hands (how frail her bones seemed) and pulled her up to rest against the headboard, ignoring her weak flails of protest. Gathering his jacket to one side, he sat on the edge of Shilo's bed, watching as the girl cried. Salty tears fell down her cheeks, dripped off her chin, and she needed a tissue, but Graverobber didn't do anything but watch her cry until, minutes later, she settled down enough to take a deep breath, then another.

The sun was almost done with it's ascension into the sky, the orange and yellow blaze turning to the monotonous butter yellow hue that lit the city with all day long. The lamps weren't necessary, rather ridiculous actually, but Graverobber didn't turn them off. How many times had he been in the dark and wanted a light to sit by? How many times had he wanted a room of his own, somewhere he could come back to more than once and know he would have someplace comfortable to rest? The bed was so soft, the fabric of the sheets smooth and unfamiliar underneath Graverobber's fingertips as he unconsciously slid his hands along the edge of the mattress. He looked at the floor, the hardwood floor stained with blood, the rugs dirty from his boots, footprints leading to-

"Kid, how long has that window been open? Did you try to jump out or anything?"

Shilo shook her head, sniffling, wiping her face with her hands gingerly.

"Why are there bloody footprints?"

"I- I was try- trying to tell you! I didn't-"

As Shilo broke out into more tears, Graverobber stood up and walked to where there were two footprints set into the wood by blood, both of them hardly recognizable as footprints if not for the fact that there was a definite heel to one and toe on the other. Someone had stepped in Shilo's blood on their way out of the room, but Graverobber couldn't see any damage to the window or anything else that could explain a break-in. The shoe prints seemed too big to be from anything Shilo would wear, nearly his size, and he wondered if maybe he even had gone to the window after finding the girl. No, he hadn't, and the window was definitely open when he had walked in. He was tempted to ask her if he was being set up, but Graverobber could tell, anyone could tell, that Shilo wasn't acting.

Carefully, he asked, still wanting to doubt the evidence that supported Shilo's story, "Do you remember anything?"

"No! I fell down on the floor and I don't remember anything else!" she yelled, becoming more and more frustrated as she couldn't stop her tears. Shilo started gasping, wrapping her arms around herself despite the pain, rocking back and forth. She was having a panic attack, something she had never really experienced before, and Graverobber could tell it scared the hell out of her. Hurrying to her side, he wondered what to do.

He did the only thing he could think of.

Loading one of his smaller vials into the Zydrate gun, he unwrapped one of Shilo's arms from around her ribs and stuck her in the crook of the elbow, a sharp and quick stab he wondered if she could even feel through the panic that didn't ease until, after what seemed like minutes instead of moments, Shilo relaxed and took a shuddering breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the headboard and slid down into the mattress, taking her first Zydrate dose and falling into the stupor that comes with being drugged with such a strong chemical. It was quite innocent, actually, the way she nearly smiled in her relief of the pain easing away, and the way her hands relaxed and her shoulders drooped. Her breathing became regular, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Graverobber brushed away some of the hair that fell over her face and sat back down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on knees as he turned his head to watch Shilo fall asleep. Her hands, wrists in all their bloody disarray, rested on the bed and Graverobber took one in his own hand. He wasn't much good at this doctor stuff. Nor was he a sleuth. Why would someone attack a young woman and stage it as a suicide?

As Graverobber ran over names and faces, plots and places, he started to droop. The lamplight was comforting, the plush bed inviting, and, against his better judgment, he slipped off his boots and pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame. Closing the drapes was easy, right after shutting and locking the window and door, and he turned off the lamps. Feeling slightly ridiculous in his stocking feet and taking care not to step in the blood that was nearly dry in puddles on the floor, the dealer stashed his jacket and bags of tools and Zydrate under the bed. The floor would have been just fine but, even on the streets, he tried not to sleep next to anything as questionable as blood. He was never much for sleeping sitting up, either, and the dealer wondered if he should just sneak around the house and find a guest room, or even a good patch of carpet. He hadn't slept in what must have been going on two days, though, and he knew anything was better than nothing.

Graverobber was unusually kind in the way he covered Shilo in the sheet he had so rudely ripped off her. Pulling the blankets around her before tugging up the comforter and sheets from where they were so perfectly tucked in at the end of the bed, he climbed in. It was ridiculous, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. Here he was, one of the best Zydrate dealers in the city, sleeping at the foot of the bed in a little girl's room. And most of everything was pink. He hoped he never would remember he had slept like a faithful pet in the pink bed owned by an orphaned girl. But, Graverobber thought to himself, at least he was one of the few from the streets who had a bed to sleep in, especially when it was particularly large, soft, and he wasn't alone inside it.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

Shilo woke up wondering why she had such unusual socks on. She never wore socks to bed, not unless she was sick, and she didn't remember owning a pair of socks that didn't flex when her feet did. They must have had holes in them, too, because only the arches and toes were warm, the heels buried in a different sort of fabric. Stretching, then realizing why she hadn't stretched in the first place, Shilo whimpered as her muscles hardly moved how she wanted them to, resisting her commands. Wincing, she tried making a fist with both hands and decided against forcing the issue as her fingers only bent halfway down before the discomfort became too much to continue. Why was there stitching in her skin? Why did she feel so good when she should be in so much pain?

The previous night came flooding back to her and Shilo flopped down into the mattress from where she had been trying to sit up, trying to beat back the waves of confusion and despair. It hadn't all been a nightmare, a vision she created in the darkest realms of sleep. It was real: the floor, the blood, anger, pain, the awful pain that crippled her... Accusations, realizations, and a figure sitting in the corner of her room... Glancing to the corner, Shilo held her breath to realize that the only thing from her memories that wasn't there as she remembered it to be was the man who saved her, the Zydrate dealer that took a needle and thread to the slashes across her wrists. The thread was thin and partly buried in scabs forming over the wounds; she bet it would be a bitch to try to take out later, though.

The socks on her feet moved and Shilo jumped, realizing they weren't socks at all as she saw a rather large lump at the end of the bed shift, buried under the blankets. They had been hands, wrapped around her toes, and Shilo realized Graverobber was just waking up.

Blushing unsuccessfully, not enough blood to flame her cheeks, Shilo didn't say anything as the strange man she had met in the graveyard just weeks ago was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his face, partly covered by her lacy pink blankets. It was a large enough bed that the dealer had been able to sleep comfortably, although Shilo's feet were practically in his ribs. The image was so startling and so unusual that Shilo didn't know how to feel and wondered why he was still here when he had any place in the world he could sleep.

"Good morning?" she said tentatively, more of a question than a statement. Graverobber, visible in the dim light coming through the curtains that shut the light of day out of the room, realized where he was.

"What the- What the fuck am I doing here?"

The question was followed by a flurry of movement as Graverobber practically tore the bedding off the mattress as he got up and dragged his boots, bags, and jacket to the chair in the corner, getting dressed to leave. Shilo was still completely startled, jaw dropping when Graverobber looked up from his rush to get out and glared at her.

"Why are you upset? You can stay here, I don't mind. Stay."

The girl was so damned innocent, he thought, sneering. Even in this moment, when she is probably so confused and shy as to not know herself from one of those stupid stuffed animals resting on the floor beside the bed, she can't stop to think what she is offering. How could he have slept so long, so unaware? Normally he didn't sleep more than a handful of hours at a time, always on guard. What was so fucking special about this place that he had slept more than half the day away?

"Really, I don't mind sharing," Shilo added as Graverobber hurried his actions.

"What would you know about sleeping in someone else's bed, kid?"

"Well, we weren't, well... You were just so comfortable down there and I really don't mind you, I mean-- I..."

Shilo's voice faded away as she realized she lacked the words to convince him to stay, that she was only making him more and more aggravated when she tried again and he cut her staggering off mid-sentence.

"Listen, kid. I stayed here last night because I wasn't thinking right, okay? If anyone even asks you about me, you and I never even met, got it? Not last night, not last week, not ever. And take better care of yourself; not everyone actually gives a damn."

"But you slept here. You-"

"I've slept other places, too, with actual women, and I wasn't at the end of the bed like one of those fucking stuffed animals of yours. If I had actually seen a bed these past few months, I wouldn't have stayed here last night, believe me. Don't pretend you're anything special. Or is that what you want to think, huh? Think you're like those girls on the street that can pay me without cash for a shot or two of the drug? If you even knew anything--"

"Don't," Shilo muttered, turning her head away from Graverobber's mocking stare. She wished she never would have brought it up, the fact he had slept in her room last night, at the end of her very bed. She knew this was something along the lines of a punishment for ever mentioning that Graverobber himself had tolerated pink and lace and had even suffered to have stuffed animals in the same room as him.

"--about sex," he finished smugly, watching her face turn pink from behind a thin veil of hair. "You wouldn't have brought it up. You don't know anything about touching and sharing beds. You know nothing of anything. Don't pretend you do and don't pretend you will."

Graverobber slung his bag over his shoulder and stood, glancing at the fading light leaking in through gaps in the curtains. It was nearly nightfall and there was plenty of work to be done; his plans were out the window, much like the mysterious attacker Shilo had carried on about. Was he really as tired as to believe her last night? What a waste of time, Graverobber thought as he recalled what he was going to ask Shilo. There wasn't any need for her in any of these plans after all.

"Where are you going?"

"Away," he said coldly, walking past Shilo and out out of the bedroom. "I don't need to be here and I don't need to come back."

"But you came here! You found me! You saved me!" Shilo yelled after Graverobber as he walked down the hallway and started descending the stairs. "Don't leave me!"

The dealer paused, head bowed, foot hovering over the next step in the staircase that would take him down and out of the Wallace's house for what might actually be the only visit. The anger inside him faded and all Graverobber felt was stupidity. Stupidity for what he did, for what he was going to say, and for what he was going to do in the future. Turning to look at Shilo, who stood so weak in the doorway that she leaned against the hallway wall, eyebrows raised and lips parted in desperation. She was all alone, in this house, and he doubted if there was going to be anyone to even come check up on the kid besides himself. Although his frustration at being caught sleeping and staying in Shilo's room, next to the stuffed animals, was still burning inside him, Graverobber put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Do you really, really mean that?"

"Yes."

"With everything you are?"

"Yes!"

"And you're sure about wanting me to come back?"

"Yes! Why won't you just say you will?"

"Because I don't think you know exactly who or what you're dealing with."

"But what if the person, or whatever it was, that attacked me comes back?"

Shilo's face started to crumple and she carefully wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as she started to accept the answer Graverobber hadn't yet given. Feeling uncomfortable, rolling his eyes, he sighed again.

"Kid, I'll come back. I don't know when, but I'll come back, okay?"

He didn't pause to wait for her expression to change or to allow her to say anything else to him, just turning and continuing his way down the stairs. Only mysterious forces knew what else he was going to be convinced of doing for this girl. And maybe he would have enough time between now and when he came back to think over the plans nearly abandoned. There was just one request:

"I'm going to need my own bed next time."


	3. Agreement

Like wine, Zydrate aged with time.

With every day it fermented inside the body, it became stronger. Graverobber was lucky when he found a corpse that had rested in the dirt and cracked marble of graveyards instead of the usual fare of bodies on the streets. A handful of times a month he found someone who had rested long enough to turn their brain fluid to that deep hue, a vial of liquid lapis, and it fetched a high price on the streets. It was the rare scalpel slut who could afford such a strong version of her favorite drug, however, and Graverobber typically saved those special vials for special customers, like the daughter of the newly deseaced organ overlord.

Amber Sweet hadn't sought out her favorite drug dealer all week and the man of the streets hadn't bothered to look for her. In the years Amber had been an addict, she had only bought from Graverobber in the last few months of her habit, mostly because he allowed her to pay in other ways besides cash. Money could buy clothes and more surgery. Sex was cheap, quick, and easy for Amber. Graverobber tolerated most of it, near the end of their relationship, whatever the hell sort of relationship they could label it as. It certaintly wasn't romantic and neither Amber nor Graverobber had any respect for one another, much less affection. There was something mysterious, something distant that, once touched, shuddered and shivered in delight. Amber was the princess of the city, practically queen of the world. Everyone placated her, giving her whatever she wanted, and Graverobber had been no exception. It wasn't the physical contact that pleased Graverobber, even though Amber's only true talent had been kneeling at the alters of the flesh. It was the fact Amber would smile after being shot up and pulled down on the streets covered in dirt and blood. A true smile. It was fleeting, brief, and always twisted into a sneer when she saw Graverobber's watching her, but it was a smile.

More people should smile like that, Graverobber thought to himself as he wandered his usual route, occassionally ducking and hiding from the searchlights and stomp of boots as others fled the GeneCo authorities. He continued on his way even when the danger hadn't faded, but he wasn't as interested tonight in his usual antics of tempting and taunting the men with the life taking guns. How many times had Graverobber wondered what dealer would be taking Zydrate from his body once the GeneCo assassins found him? He knew that he was just going to be another brick in the city built on death, just as he was part of the vermin crawling the streets in life. Shilo had a chance, an opprotunity to be something more. Then again, when 'something more' meant living as Amber lived, maybe it was best Shilo was still locked away in Nathan's house. There was no inbetween in the world: just Ambers and scalpal sluts. That was always Graverobber's understanding of it and he pondered his plan as he placed the little glass vials into the gun and shot up his customers. Shilo was one of the few who couldn't be classified into the majority, not yet, at least. One of those rare decent women was Mag, the hope of decency and talent, of kindness and love. Perhaps the scalpal sluts he was injecting with the addictive vice of the underworld had some decency and talent. Perhaps Amber had kindness and love hidden in her heart. But no one knew for sure, just as Graverobber didn't know how his plan was going to work now that he had an idea of how Nathan's daughter had been faring and no clue who her attacker could have been.

.................................................

It was always warm in the house, especially Shilo's room. Nathan had always kept the heater going, the blankets piled, and the hugs readily available. Now, Shilo shivered. How had things gotten so cold? How had things gotten so bad? How had everything happened the way it did? Maybe she was cold because of her injuries; Shilo had read enough medical books to know the basics of what her body was going through. The bed had been so warm, the sleep so deep... it was so nice to sleep after nearly a week of broken naps and fitful dreams. She had never had another person sleep on her bed before, much less curled around her feet. To see a grungy drug deal waking up, blurry eyed, had been less of a shock and more of a comfort. Silently, Shilo ran her hands over the bedspread as she continued to lay in the same position she had been in since Graverobber left, tucked into herself in the middle of the bed. It had been hours, nearly a full day. The sun was going down, hardly shining. It was a weak attempt on the star's part to warm the Earth, much less Shilo's bedroom. The girl gathered the blankets around herself as carefully as she could, wincing at the sharp pains coming from various parts of her body. Her wrists were still seeping blood through the rough stitching and poorly formed scars. Shilo had ignored her stomach pains for days, the growling requests becoming muttered pleas as food became less and less of an event. What use was food when the idea of eating something made her completely nauseous? She hadn't kept food down, hadn't had much water, and Shilo knew what the pains in her kidneys were from. Hopefully Graverobber would come back. She felt she needed him.

"No," Shilo whispered through cracked lips as she closed her eyes to drift off to sleep, "I know I need him. He's the only one I have left."

............................................

Graverobber found himself wandering the streets back to Nathan's house, his daytime customers placated. Should he go back? Couldn't he be hiring someone to do this? The plan didn't really involve himself directly until the very end; why was he wasting his time now? Why was he going back to that little girl when he should be roaming the streets for more Zydrate, more customers? It was dusk, nearly nightfall, the prime time to be preparing for his round of evening visitors. He was throwing away another night of business to spend time with a broken little body claiming to have had her wrists slit by someone else. She didn't know this city, didn't know the sort of people out there... if an attempt had actually been seriously made on her life, the would be murderer would have slit her throat and been done with it. Contemplating how much of this attack story could have been real and how much could have been a mental collapse, Graverobber leaned against a headstone, staring at the house in front of him. He could see Shilo's balcony, the blood spatter on the curtains invisible from the street.

The first time Graverobber met Shilo, she had been shaking behind a headstone, close to nervous collapse, and he hadn't shown pity as he extracted a rather fine bottle of Zydrate from a body. Who was he to know the kid hadn't experienced the world, much less understood the finer points of how to survive in the big bad place? Who was he to care? But she had been interesting, to say the most he could in one sentence if asked to describe his first meeting with the girl. So pale, innocent, nervous... He hadn't bothered to follow her, to check up on her as he extracted what was his best harvest of Zydrate in a single night. Nathan's house had always been territory fought over by the best graverobbers and now they all knew why. The repo man had to have a place to dispose of the excess organs, didn't he? Strolling across the street and into the yard, Graverobber climbed over the ridiculously tall fence and entered the house through the side door he had broken into. So what was a night of drug peddling tossed away when so much money could be at his fingertips in just a short period of time?

"It's freezing in here," Graverobber grimmaced as he walked into Shilo's room, pulling the jacket tighter around his frame for emphasis until he realized the girl was asleep and didn't even know he was there. It was an intoxicating feeling, to know he was the only one aware of his actions in a room with other people, with another person who wouldn't know he was there until he wanted them to know. The drug dealer took a look around the room again, noticing how much medical equipment he could possibly sell; the girl wouldn't need it once she was properly through with the drugs her father had given her. It would take time to get the body independent from the drug, especially since Shilo had taken it her entire life, and Graverobber knew the symptoms of withdrawl from how many of his customers had crawled back to him, begging for a hit.

"Kid, are you alive?"

He didn't contemplate the cruelty of this statement until after he saw the gashes on Shilo's arms as she stirred weakly in the bed. It had been a slight gamble to leave her here alone in the first place, to let her be in control of her own safety so soon after it had been compromised for a second time in one week. However, she was here, alive, and it was all Graverobber needed at the moment. Pulling the plastic curtains aside, he sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Shilo's wrist to check for a heartbeat. She groaned pitifully and Graverobber felt her blood pump meekly through her sliced veins, his thumb running along the crisp edges of scab and slide across her palm with the blood oozing from the wound. It she wasn't careful, it was going to get infected and Shilo was going to have less of a chance surviving that than the possibility of an attacker reappearing inside her bedroom.

"When was the last time you ate? I know when the last time you had a shower was," Graverobber said, wrapping his fingers around her shoulder and feeling the bones protruding. The dried blood from the opera stage still coated her back and hair, the black dress absorbing the odors of a mistreated body.

"You're back," Graverobber could hear her whisper, looking at her face as her eyes tried to search out his. A hint of a smile began to creep along her face, but Graverobber's frown paused her feeble search for his hand.

"Of course I'm back. Have that room ready?"

"Oh," Shilo said, voice shaking. She had forgotten about the room. Right after he had left, after her tears had dried up, she had staggered back to her bed and had been there ever since. "I'll get that-"

"Never mind, kid, I'll find a place."

"Stay!"

It was the loudest thing Shilo had said all day and her voice rasped as she exclaimed. Graverobber felt the trembling fingertips of her hand wrap around his wrist in what had to have been all the energy Shilo had in her body. The desperate look in her eyes, the distress in her face, caused Graverobber to frown and fidget in discomfort. He wasn't used to this sort of thing. Begging for drugs, yes. Begging for his company, no, especially not with such intensity.

"Kid, I mean I'll find a room here in the house."

Shilo didn't relax one bit, her eyes still imploring and helpless, hand never loosening on his. She didn't believe him, Graverobber knew. Why should she? She had been told tales so many times, so many farces found out, too much of her life a lie. Trust wasn't something Shilo had much of. Neither was cleanliness or body fat.

"If I stay here," Graverobber said with a smile he hoped wasn't as cynical and darkly humourous as his smile always tended to be, "I think we need to make a deal. You'll take a shower and eat, then don't do any more harm to yourself from now on. I have a few things to talk with you about. To do that, I need a living body, not a corpse, okay?"

Shilo nodded. She wasn't about to argue with him, especially when she felt she needed him so badly. No, she didn't just feel it: she knew it. She needed him. Shilo saw Graverobber's bitter grin change, turn to a cold contemplation of what he should do next.

"I trust you not to leave me."

"You shouldn't put your trust in anyone," Graverobber said, detatching her from his arm none too gently. "Much less me, kid."

With those final words, Graverobber stalked out of the room, the tattered rags of his jacket sweeping the floor behind him. She knew he would probably take up in Nathan's bedroom; she wished he wouldn't. Of all the things she wanted Graverobber to touch, her father's bedroom was not one of them. She hadn't even been able to go in there herself in years, having no idea if there were any valuables, emotional or monetary. Getting out of bed to do anything more than use the bathroom was out of the question right now, though, and Shilo threw her head back into the pillows, too exhausted to even take off her wig. Her blood was growing stronger, but she didn't feel any better.

Drifting off into the deep sleep of the restless who have finally been forced to rest is the darkest sleep of all, not even a nightmare to keep company with.

* * *

_I have been overwhelmed by the positive response this story has so far, so I want to say thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, and favorites this story! This is just a fun little side story I have going on, so I dump melodrama and experimental structures here. Like most of my readers know, my fanfiction is not meant to be serious and I don't care for critique: I get ripped apart by editors as a journalist and by editors as a novelist, so fanfiction is for everyone to enjoy without tearing it apart. Thank you for respecting that. I don't own any part of "REPO" or it's characters._

_I have ties to the Red River Valley, which is undergoing horrible flooding currently. The first crest topped 1997 records and I, along with the rest of my college, had evacuations to undergo. Hopefully we don't have a repeat of that within the next few weeks: there is supposed to be a second crest. Please keep your thoughts and hopes with the community! Thank you!_


	4. Before the Storm

That first week, Shilo kept her promise. She bathed, took care of her stitches, and even managed to eat some food found the the back of a kitchen cupboard. The Wallace house was not well stocked with anything anyone normal would ever eat and the water filter was broken, meaning it was difficult to cook healthy. It was risk to drink unfiltered water in the city, because of all the contamination of death and chemicals, and a new filter was well beyond what was affordable. Graverobber, convinced he was not about to spend all of his hard earned dealer money on a stupid little bit of metal with some sponge inside, found himself shoving a small package onto the dining room table for Shilo to notice and take care of. After all, if he lived there he would be drinking the water, too.

Graverobber hadn't been able to bring her outside, her adamant refusal meaning her own eventual starvation: there was only so much food he could steal off the streets and from the back alley stores that happened to come across a stolen crate or two of produce. Walking into a regular store would mean his certain arrest; it was hard enough on him to duck in and out of where he already went to feed himself. Bringing back enough food for two wouldn't work for an extended period of time. Just at the end of the first week of staying at the Wallace house, he had been followed three times, narrowly shaking off the Gen-Cops.

It wasn't normal for Graverobber to be so cautious. Living on the edge was all he knew, all he wanted. Now, having to watch his back not just for his own wellbeing but that of Shilo's, Graverobber was having a difficult time with it. He wasn't a mother, damn it! He could take care of a kid, especially a messed up little girl coming off medication and the loss of the little family she had, not to mention an attacker on the loose. There was plenty of news to be heard out on the streets, but all Graverobber's questions had gone unanswered. The only way to truly find something out was to ask directly, but what if he led himself into a trap? What if he gave his relationship with Shilo away? He had been asked once or twice about the Repo Man's daughter, denying having seen her more than in passing right before the opera incident, but Graverobber knew he couldn't keep poking his nose in the same place: he would get her caught, like she had warned him just a few weeks ago.

Maybe he felt responsible because he also felt guilty. Graverobber's plans seemed to unravel every time he saw the girl, just knowing she wouldn't be up to the task he was going to eventually lay before her. He should just give up and find a different way, another path. Why did he want to mess around with the broken remains of an already unhappy household?

Shilo wouldn't talk with him very much while he was at the house unless he prompted her to speak. She wasn't shy, not as much to make her so silent, but it was as though she didn't know what to say. The first day or two of Graverobber's stay at the house had been tense. She startled when he would appear in a room, ask him ridiculous questions he didn't know how to answer, and always seemed to be picking at the scabs at her wrists. He had to stop himself from becoming a replacement Nathan, wanting to lock the door to Shilo's room to keep her safe while he was away. There was always a worry that he wouldn't be back in time, that she would go missing, and he would really be left without a plan. Even with his doubts about the girl, he still couldn't help but feel reliant on her life.

..0.0.0

"Where are you going?"

Shilo sat on her bed, open book on her lap, focused entirely on Graverobber's movements. He had been sitting in her room at the same seat he had been in when Shilo had woken up from her attack, napping, aware of her looking at him every time he cracked his eyes. She had asked him why he did that, waking up every once in awhile to take a look around him. He had fought a sarcastic answer and just mumbled something about living on the streets. But now, as he stood up and checked his pockets to account for all his equipment, Shilo started to panic.

"Out to work," he answered offhandedly, "I always go out to work in the evenings, Shilo."

She was well aware of the mocking tone, but continued.

"Why do you have to sell that horrid stuff?"

"If I remember right, that horrid stuff got you through your first few days after nearly having your hands cut off."

Shilo fell quiet again, not before giving him an unhappy glare. He couldn't help but feel a little bad when she went silent, but was still as annoyed as she ruffled her eyebrows at him as he was with her while she asked her stupid questions.

"Kid, they're addicted. If I don't go to them, they're going to go to someone else. They go to someone else, I don't get paid. I don't get money, I can't eat. Or you, for that matter. If you have a problem with the way I put groceries in the kitchen, then go buy them yourself."

"I don't go outside," she snarked, face turned from his. "It's dangerous."

"Yeah, well, you're right. And you need to really shut up and think before judging me, got it? You don't know anything about the streets."

"I was out there with you."

"Once! And that was nearly a disaster!"

"It was Amber's fault."

The tension in the room doubled, settling over everything like an invisible toxic fog. Shilo never knew how Graverobber had gotten involved, how he had receieved Miss. Sweet's business, or what his relationship with the Largos truly was. Then why was he tense, ready to run? She didn't know. If she knew, he wouldn't doubt she would kill him.

Without a word, Graverobber left the room, heavy boots pounding on the floor and continuing down the hallway, door slamming behind him. He called that he would be back in a few hours, but wasn't sure she could hear him.

He didn't think she knew that he could hear her cry every time he left.

"Maybe it should stay that way," he muttered as he sneaked out of the Wallace household and resumed his regular lifestyle, fighting down the gnats of guilt fluttering around his stomach as his first customer of the evening turned the corner.

..0.0.0

_"So you're looking to apply for a position?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_He felt uncomfortable in his suit, stealing it off the body of a dead man just earlier in the week, worried about the smell. It wouldn't help to smell like death at his Gene-Co interview, especially not in front of Rotti Largo himself, but didn't Repo Men smell like their victims? Maybe he should mention he wouldn't have to get used to the less than pleasant aspects of the life of a repossession agent because he was already used to it? But that would bring up questions about what he was hoping to leave behind, and so the man who would later be known as the Graverobber sat silent in his chair._

..0.0.0

Every evening, she asked him if he wouldn't like to sleep in a bed.

Every evening, he said no.

Shilo had been convinced her Zydrate dealing friend (or was he fiend?) was staying in her father's bedroom, assuming he would have little care in the way of sleeping in the room of a dead legend and former head of household. The thought of him touching her father's things had made Shilo dizzy and upset, so she hadn't entertained the notion since Graverobber's second night in the house. But every once in awhile she noticed a warm spot under her bare feet on the carpet in the small sitting room, the musty corner next to the foyer, on her way to the kitchen. He didn't even sleep on the couch, just on the floor, and she had been slightly shocked.

"Look, kid," he had answered, "I sleep in trash bins, alleys littered with needles and poisons, and I don't even get to sleep half the night away. Hell, it would probably be best if I did sleep on the floor. My bones don't feel right after sleeping in a bed."

She had remembered him curled up around her feet that first night in her bedroom, just resting beside her, and had blushed a most furious shade of red. Graverobber had also remembered and was far from blushing. In fact, he had refused to talk the rest of the morning and avoided her until noticing she hadn't eaten that afternoon.

"Eat something."

"Sleep on the couch."

"No."

"Fine."

Only after he had her recall she was breaking her part of the contract of him staying in the house did she quickly eat something. Graverobber was her only protection and, although she wanted answers, Shilo wasn't about to permanently drive him away. She only felt safe when he was there. He had told her not to trust him, and Shilo didn't want to do a thing to make Graverobber consider leaving her, but she couldn't keep quiet forever. Far from wanting to do anything but argue, she now couldn't help but to ask questions whenever she thought of one.

He was always particularly vicious when she mentioned one of the Largos.

"Don't you have any respect for your father?" he had snapped. "The Largos don't care about you anymore! They never cared for you in the first place! Rotti had his own goal and didn't mind what happened as long as his goal was reached. The bastard died, but only after taking your family with him."

Shilo had sobbed, tears choking and blinding her as she ran upstairs and sat on the floor by her bed while trying to catch a gasp of air. She had probably sounded like a wild animal, panicking and howling the way she had. But, after she had calmed herself and pushed all thoughts of the Largos, her father, or what had just happened the past hour out of her head, Shilo had not been able to help mentioning the Largos in her questions. Graverobber had tried to assure her that no one was after her, that Gene-Co was in the hands of who wanted it, and there was no need to drag the richest family in the world into Shilo's life ever again.

But she hadn't believed him.

She would go outside soon, go get food, find out how to pay bills. Graverobber would leave her, she was sure of it, either because she finally asked the wrong question, he was killed, or just simply because he wanted to move on. He had already let her know she wasn't important in his life, just someone interesting with a house to sleep in during the day and a place to come back to after the night was over. Shilo found herself hoping she would learn to not trust him, to backpedal and save herself from becoming so completely engrossed in having him protect her. But, late at night when the windows rattled and the curtains shifted and all the world seemed to press in around her with only malice to be had, Shilo knew she had to have someone.

And Graverobber was the only someone she had.


	5. A Brief Song

So, this was Nathan's room, where the famous Master of Repossession slept? Graverobber was almost, but not quite, bothered by how normal everything seemed. The evidence of a double life slapped the world in the face as they watched their favorite villain die in his daughter's arms just a week ago, but it was already old news. The Largos had made sure they were front and center of every newspaper, magazine, and conversation since the day Amber announced her inheritance of GeneCo. Nathan Wallace had been quietly disposed of and no one had checked on Shilo, no one except a mysterious visitor with dark plans. And a failed murderer. The drug dealer grinned sardonically at his own joke; he always did like to pretend he was a menace.

There was already dust on the dresser, nothing worth any attention besides some rather expensive cologne Graverobber knew he could sell, no matter that there was only a half bottle left. The bed was basic, large enough to sprawl out on comfortably, definitely better than a Dumpster, but he just couldn't bring himself to put wrinkles in the blankets; the bed looked like it was made just that morning. He had a problem with ruining things that seemed perfect. Things with flaws, yes. Perfect things, no. Graverobber knew that there was a saying that went something along the lines of "Nothing is perfect," but he knew otherwise. He came closer to the bed and noticed a stray thread poking up from the comforter, which was enough of an imperfection to merit a good flop. Feeling his back crack in that strange and addictive combination of pain and relief, Graverobber sighed and closed his eyes.

Although he had a place to stay for awhile, which was a particular relief because the nights were getting colder, there were still issues to be resolved. His little song bird was still broken, inside and out, and she was of no use when so shattered; he had to help her function until she could do so herself. This gave him some time to work on his plan. Time was what he was going to need to better serve all parties before they could all serve him. But Shilo wasn't going to be of any use anyway if there was a crazy killer on the loose and after her blood. He believed her when she said she hadn't done that to herself; Graverobber had seen plenty of people do plenty of things under stress but he was mistaken to assume the girl had tried to take her own life. Daddy's words probably ran through her head every time she had thought of it, Graverobber sneered.

Sitting up and peeling off his jacket, he decided it was time to see what else Nathan Wallace had had the best of as a result of his long, fateful career as Geneco's lead Repo Man, starting with the shower.

...

Billowing steam clouds fogged up the mirrors and made the tiles slick, the warm air and fresh water loosening the dirt from his skin and hair as Graverobber hummed, definitely pleased with himself. There was no time to oneself on the streets, only dark corners and partly hidden alleys for the most basic bodily needs, no such thing as hot water enough to bathe yourself with, and hardly any such things like bathing at all. He didn't know which song he was humming, something old and so ingrained in his mind that the words slipped out; before he knew it, he was singing, entirely content in self expression. He was alone, under no immediate threat, and had all the time in the world tonight to scrape off grave grunge. Working soaps and oils through his hair, Graverobber belted the end of the tune and started in on another before remembering there was another person in the house. He turned off the water and reached for a towel, but paused upon realizing there was still water running and yet another voice singing. With a smirk, he dried himself off, listening to Shilo's voice. The girl could sing, that was for sure. Yeah, she was a little soft, a little too pop-star, but her voice would mature. Along with the rest of her, Graverobber couldn't help thinking. His interest in Shilo had been blatant in front of Amber in the alley last week, when the girl had seen him press his gun against the heiress' anatomy, but it had been an attempt to get a rise out of Amber. She had been too high, stoned, whatever you wanted to call it, to notice Graverobber's hands running over another female. But Graverobber found himself throughly enjoying the way Shilo squirmed under his touch, the fragile curve of bone beneath his hands, warm skin so close to his, strands of wig draped over her neck, that neck through which pulsed such a salty, rapid flutter of heartbeat. He just wanted to touch it, to own it for a moment, knowing something so perfect was so close. But, if he tried hard enough, Graverobber knew he could find the flaws he needed to declare her imperfect and thus maintain his position within his plans. But there was no chance to even hear himself think as Shilo tried to transpose a song Graverobber already wasn't a fan of.

"Kid!" he bellowed, rolling his eyes. "You're in the wrong key!"

The singing ceased and he had been hoping for a gasp of surprise, but all he received was silence as she finished her shower. Well, maybe he shouldn't have said anything, but damn that song! Mag's final performance had not been one for easy emulation and Shilo hadn't been there when her godmother fell; he wished he could tell her all he had seen, what Mag had done with her bravery. Shilo didn't know those night's events had given her the chance of a lifetime, but she also had no clue how to be an opera singer.

"Well, she'll get a little help with that," Graverobber snickered to himself, wondering if Shilo had tucked herself into bed yet, running his plans over in his head for tenth time that day, all while absentmindedly drying himself. Shilo, tucked in those sheets he had slept on, curled up and maybe thinking of him... The thought more than thrilled him, but he shook himself out of it and grimaced at himself. Just a kid, remember that, he told himself. Just a kid. He was hot-blooded, she had no clue, and there would be little hope of much but failure if he couldn't keep to himself. Graverobber had enough sense not to bring any street slugs into the house, though, and didn't want to venture out tonight, especially since he had decided to get clean instead of sticking needles in corpses. No wares, no sale.

As Graverobber turned off the lights and wrapped his bare self in the sheets, Shilo's voice stuck in his head. The girl had been well enough to sing, to comfort and express herself. He liked that, knowing it meant she was farther along than he thought. His mind wandered to other things, comfortable and adult and deliciously dark things, Graverobber falling asleep in a fraction of the time he thought he would.

Life was easy when you had a bed, locked door, and seemingly all the time in the world.


End file.
